I think I’ve taken the concept of alternate medicine to a whole new level. Since the medical world has absolutely no idea why I’m in this deaf mess (sounds like a rap song) to begin with, I’ve been exploring other avenues, like acupuncture for instance.
My friend Linda found me Dr. Chi (think it’s his stage name?) who happens to take my insurance. How handy is that? I get to go eight times a quarter at twenty bucks a pop. I mean you can’t get a decent lunch in my neighborhood for that.
I will say Dr. Chi could use a decorator among other things, like a little Listerine. The first time I saw him and he bent down to look into my ears, I almost passed out. His breath was so bad at 10 o’clock in the morning that I thought it might just bring my hearing back (wishful thinking on my part).
His office, let’s say, is a little sparse. There’s nothing on the walls except one of those cheap rolled calenders you get in Chinatown when you buy a big fish. I mean how bout a little trip to Azuma, New York’s best, cheap house ware store, to pick up a few things. What about a babbling brook? Or a fish tank…something that says…we’re in an alternate world folks where you can relax and pretend we know what we’re doing.
The other thing I found odd was his toilet. It was mounted halfway up the wall. I actually had to climb onto it like a porcelain palomino since it has a two-toned seat. Hmm, he must have some very tall patients, I thought, as I relieved myself while taking in the sights.
He doesn’t say much, though he did everything but make love to my insurance card. “You make you deductible, yes?” Have I ever…three times over Kemosabe, thank you very much. After 3 doctors, 15 hearing tests, 2 steroid shots that could have financed a trip around the world, an MRI and a fat, little radiology bill, I’m covered baby.
I guess Dr. Chi is a minimalist in many ways since he doesn’t believe in robes either. When I asked him what to take off he said, ‘Just shoe, sock and sweatshirt.” So there I was in my tights and running bra looking rather Sears Catalogy freezing off my, it’s even gotten smaller, ass.
After administering 18 needles in my face and neck and a couple in my feet for good measure, he asked me how I felt. “Just fine,” I said, holding my breath since his was still permeating the room like old gym socks. I must have looked like a dead (but chic) porcupine lying there unable to move since if you do…OUCH!
To his credit he kept coming in to see how I was doing. “You okay?” “Sure, especially when you flick the needles like guitar strings…that’s especially fun for me since it feels like I’m being casually stabbed.
After 30 minutes be came and took them all out. “How you feel?” he asked. “Oh, like a brand new woman,” I told him. Frankly, I didn’t feel any different but promised I’d be back just the same. I have 7 sessions left after all. So what if they don’t do anything. And who really knows for sure?
That’s the thing here one needs to remember. It’s perfectly okay to take risks and feel stupid when you’re this desperate. I’m willing to do anything, and that includes believing whatever it is I’m opting for is going to help.
If I read that bungee jumping in a cow costume would bring my hearing back I have one word for you…MOO.
I think being open is a good thing. Modern medicine can be so limiting not to mention arrogant. These specialists specialize in making you feel hopeless and small. When my present doctor looked at me after he casually answered a text on his phone and said, ‘Your right ear’s done,” I wanted to unlock his bay window and jump out taking him, his fucking phone and his fat ass with me.
At least Dr. Chi, when I left, said, ”We bring ear back…you come…you hear.”
Suddenly that pleated calender with the Chinese couple canoodling in a kayak looked awfully good to me.
No one should ever even murmur…anything’s done, unless it’s a roast in the oven.